


Square

by QueenAlien94



Series: Behind Closed Doors [6]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAlien94/pseuds/QueenAlien94





	

“Marco, I need to talk to you.” Marco sighed and leaned back in his plush white leather sofa as his agent, Harriett, stormed in through his front door. Normally, when he knew he had people coming over; he would have a shower, make sure that his hair was perfectly styled and throw on at least a decent pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Today, however, he hadn’t bothered. He’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and an old hoody with his messed-up hair hidden beneath a hat.

“Well, at least you’ve made the effort to move from your bed to the sofa,” Harriett commented as she took a seat opposite Marco, pulling out her phone and iPad. Marco couldn’t help but snort to himself. He had slept on the sofa; truthfully, he couldn’t face sleeping in the bed. It wasn’t his bedroom; it was _their_ bedroom and he couldn’t deal with that in that moment.

“What do you want?”

“Well, good morning to you as well,” Harriett rolled her eyes as she scrolled through her iPad, “Look, I know you’re busy wallowing and feeling sorry for yourself but we’ve got business to deal with right now.” Marco groaned and changed channels on the television.

“Can’t we do this another time? I’m not in the mood.”

“I really don’t care what you’re in the mood for. You’ve got the Echo Awards tomorrow and we need to talk about that.” Marco sighed and picked up a protein bar, ripping off the wrapping and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Cancel it, I don’t want to go,” He muttered while Harriett shook her head.

“Sorry, not an option. You’re contractually obliged with Nike to go to promote those new boots. So, if you don’t go, they’ll drop you,” Harriett asserted, watching entirely unimpressed as Marco just shrugged.

“Fine, let them drop me.”

“You do realise that that’s half your annual income, right?” Marco closed his eyes for a moment. He knew Harriett was right. He knew that he had no choice but to attend the award ceremony. But at that moment in time, he honestly couldn’t think of anything worse than having to get up off the sofa, having a shower, putting on a suit…

“If I must go, why are you getting in a flap about it?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re scheduled with the Echo’s organisers to arrive and walk the red carpet with Bree,” Marco grimaced at the sound of her name, “There’s still time to change that but…” Harriett took a moment to sigh, put down her iPad and turn to face Marco properly, “Bree must attend, I’ve checked. She’s performing her new single. I’ve contacted her agent and she’s still happy to arrive and walk the carpet with you, if you are. If not, I can change the arrangements with the organisers but we’ll have to release a statement.” Harriett’s tone changed as she spoke; her voice was softer now, as if afraid that he might burst into tears if her tone was anything less than marshmallow soft. With an eyebrow raised, Marco peered at her with a frown.

“We’ll have to release a statement just to change the arrangements?”

“No. Marco, if you and Bree arrive separately, there will be media speculation. We will have to issue a public statement to say that you have separated.”

Marco didn’t say a word; it was too much for him to take in. He had only kicked Bree out two days earlier. He hadn’t even decided yet whether he wanted to stay with Bree or-

“Can I think about it?”

“I can give you a few hours. But that’s it, Marco, seriously. You’d better give her a call and get back to me as soon as possible, ok?” Harriett gathered together her things and stood up, “Three hours, Marco, understand?” He gave her a dismissive nod and she sighed – again – and left.

Marco wanted to be sick. Just the thought of picking up the phone and hearing Bree’s voice on the other end sent a shiver of dread down his spine. After Marco walked in on her kissing Mario, he had headed straight home in a daze. He’d locked the door, opened a bottle of vodka and drank until he passed out. When he woke up the next day, with vomit down his previously crisp white shirt and a throbbing headache, it took three wonderfully blissful minutes until he remembered why he was in such a state.

He had even been crying. And Marco never cried. He was sure that even Bree had never seen him crying before.

He had received so many messages from her but hadn’t replied to any. He didn’t know what to say.

_Call me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_I’m so so so so so so so sorry. I can explain please call me!!! I love you so much xxxx_

_Please just call me. I can explain everything xxxxxx_

_I’m staying in a hotel DO NOT THINK I AM WITH HIM I love you xxxxxx_

_Just call me please xxxxx_

_I can’t lose you please just let me explain xxxxxx_

_You’re scaring me please just let me know you’re ok xxxxxx_

_ARE YOU OK????_

It’s not as if Marco didn’t know where Bree was. There was only one hotel in Dortmund where she would be. Dortmund didn’t have many luxury hotels so it wasn’t hard to figure out that she was at the Marriott in the city centre. But he couldn’t bear to face her. He knew he should, if only just to get an explanation. But no, instead he let himself think the very worst. He had all but convinced himself that the woman he adored, loved more than anything else, was having a full-blown affair with the closest thing to a brother he had.

Marco knew, however, that Harriett wasn’t dicking around. Which meant that he had three hours to get his shit together, grow a pair of balls and sort everything out with Bree.

Well. At the very least, sort of whether they were still together or not.

He knew that the ball was very much in his court in that respect.

He thought about calling her, but settled on a message instead.

_Come to the apartment ASAP please._

He received a reply almost immediately.

_20 minutes. I love you xxx_

It took a few minutes but eventually Marco found the energy to drag himself up from the sofa and to the bedroom. He changed into a fresh t-shirt and jeans and headed back to his sofa but his bum barely touched the cushions when his phone vibrated with a phone call from reception.

_“Mr Reus, we have Miss Walker here in reception asking to be let up to your room.”_

“It’s fine. Let her up.”

A few moments later, there was a knock and a tentative, unsure, opening of the front door.

“Marco?” He could only watch Bree as she slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. He wanted to stand up and shout at her. He wanted to demand an explanation. He had anger burning inside of him that he needed to get out. But all Marco could do was watch her as she moved, gracefully as always, over to the sofas. She went to sit beside him, thought better of it and settled down opposite him.

“Did you fuck him?” Even Marco was surprised by the words as they fell out of his mouth.

“Yes,” Even Marco was shocked by her answer, gaping at her as she averted his gaze and stared at the ground, “Not for years though!” Bree hastened to add, her fair cheeks flaming red, “We…were, ah, friends when we were like nineteen. We met in iCoN,” Marco rolled his eyes; how unbelievably cliché.

“I thought you had more class than to go to iCoN,” He muttered, earning himself an irritated sigh from Bree.

“Only in the past few years have I had anything that would resemble class, believe me. Back then, I was nineteen with a lot of money to burn, _of course_ I went to iCoN.”

“So…what, you had a one night stand?”

“No, we…sort of had a relationship.”

“A _relationship?_ ”

Bree stood, irritated, going over to the kitchen and to the drinks cabinet.

“Hey, you can’t tell me something like that and just walk away!” Now it was Marco’s turn to stand, following her over to the kitchen, watching as she poured a glass of gin, “You can’t _say_ something like that and calmly have a fucking drink!” But Bree seemingly remained immune to his raised, frustrated tone and merely poured him a glass, passing it over.

“Drink it. Please?” Reluctantly, Marco snatched the glass up and drank it in one, grimacing as he put his glass down.

“It was a casual relationship. Just about sex as far as I was concerned,” Bree could only watch as Marco snarled and grabbed the bottle of gin, pouring himself another glass, “I _know_ , ok? But you wanted to know so I’m telling you!”

“Oh so this is _my_ fault?” Marco cried out before drinking back his second glass.

“I’m not saying that!” Bree shouted back before dropping her head and sighing, composing herself, “Look, I saw it as just about sex, ok? But Mario…he didn’t see it that way and as soon as I realised that he wanted more, I ended it. Two years later, I met you and…yeah. I thought he must have been over me because he was the one who introduced us, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember…” Marco sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, resting his head on a fist, “But this entire story just makes me wonder why I should believe that what I saw was the one and only time while we’ve been together. It seems…pretty damn unlikely to me,” Marco commented, his tone unseasonably diplomatic as he took another drink.

“Look, I thought you were cheating on me, alright? And I-”

“Hold on, wait a minute,” Marco interrupted Bree, holding up a hand, “What the fuck do you mean, you thought I was _cheating_ on you?” Bree shrugged.

“I found a long, blonde hair in the bathroom and-”

“Are you fucking for real?” Marco shouted, kicking back his stool as he jumped up, “Four years, Bree! We have been together for four years, I have _never_ cheated on you and yet, all it takes is a _long, blonde hair_ , for you to think that I’m fucking someone else? What the hell is wrong with you? I have been _covered_ in blonde hairs for days since you let your friend use my fucking comb!” Marco could only watch as Bree’s mouth dropped open in realisation and tears glazed over her eyes.

“Marco, I-”

“Look, right now, I don’t give a fuck. We need to figure out what we’re going to do about the damn Echo Awards. Drink?” Bree nodded and Marco poured her another glass of gin.

“I want us to go together. If…if we don’t then there’s no going back from that. If we do, then we still have a choice! Please Marco, I know we can work through this and I know that you want to, too.”

***

_“Bree! This way!”_

_“Marco! Put your arm around her!”_

_“SHOW US THE RING!”_

_“Are you getting married soon?”_

_“ARE YOU PREGNANT?”_

Bree was well versed in the art of the red carpet. You had to lose yourself in the moment and realise that, at that time, your body and your image is not yours – you are there purely to help the photographers get their money shot. And tonight, with it being Bree and Marco’s first public outing since they announced their engagement, their money shot was one of the perfect, happy couple with the engagement ring firmly front and centre. Bree had never realised until then how unnatural it was to flaunt your left hand without being obvious about it. Hand on her hips, hand over her heart, hand by her side pointing in an unnatural position so the rock faced the camera…However, she was under strict instructions by her agent to save the best shot for the _Daily Mail_ _Online_. They offered €200,000 to get the shot of the couple with Bree’s left hand on Marco’s chest while smiling at each other. Marco had grimaced in disgust when he was told how they had to pose. It was so cheesy, so obvious.

But €200,000 was €200,000 so he wasn’t about to start complaining. Not much, anyway.

What Marco would forever complain about, however, was the red carpet walk. It was the absolute bain of his life and the single most uncomfortable thing he was bound to do in his career. Being yelled at to pose in all manner of ways without squinting in the face of a million dazzling flashing lights was not Marco’s idea of a good time. Coupled together with the fact that he was being forced to cuddle up with a woman who made him want to scream, it took every ounce of energy within him not to push her aside, storm off the red carpet and go straight home.

The fact that the _Daily Mail_ were paying them €200,000 and _Nike_ were paying him €150,000 for the event was the only thing that stopped him from punching the screaming reporters square in the face. He couldn’t complain – it was the easiest quarter of a million he had ever made.

When the couple had done their duties, Marco placed the obligatory hand on Bree’s lower back as they walked inside the arena. As someone who didn’t frequent such events too often, Marco often looked to Bree for guidance in at the before show party; typically held in grand halls separated off from the main stage of the show, it was where the esteemed guests gathered. What they did at such gatherings depended on who they were. For the likes of Bree and Marco – respected stars who were established in their respectable profession – it was a place to sip at free Champagne while making pleasant small talk with acquaintances who they only remembered they were fond of when they bumped into them. Then there were the likes of reality television stars, Z-list models and soap opera actors – who had only been invited to make up the numbers – who truly believed that this was the best place to network. Bree particularly enjoyed when girls who finished sixth on _Deutschland Sucht den Superstar_ would come up to her and try to convince her to let them feature on her next album. Or when a guy who had had a bit part on one of the countless soap operas shown on RTL would try and convince Marco to get them and try out at Borussia Dortmund.

“Right, first thing’s first, can you see anyone wearing the same outfit as I am?” Despite his resolve, Marco couldn’t help but smile as he saw Bree crane and twist her neck to check that no one dared to wear the same Alexander McQueen dress. Usually, she would have a dress lent to her by a designer desperate to show off their latest design and so, there would be a cast iron guarantee that no one would be wearing the same outfit. However, what with everything that had been going on, sorting out her outfit had been the last thing on her mind and so she had been forced to buy one off the rack.

“Nope, I think you’re good.”

“Thank God.” Bree breathed a sigh of relief before they both accepted a glass of Champagne from a waiter. Once they had settled in the before party, Bree had planned to tentatively broach the subject of her perhaps staying at their apartment that night but by the time she had taken a large gulp of her drink and taken a deep breath, Marco’s attention was already being diverted.

“Marco!” Bree almost winced as she gritted her teeth hard when she turned to see the high-pitched squeal belonged to none other than Lusy Skaya. The winner of the last _Big Brother_ series represented everything that Bree tried not to be; her _Instagram_ was filled with half naked pictures, she turned up to respectable events – like this one – wearing dresses which barely contained her breasts, made clear that she wasn’t wearing any panties _and_ showed off her navel piercing, and didn’t realise that her current time in the spotlight was merely her fifteen minutes. With no talent to speak of, everyone in the room knew that she was nothing. _Except_ Lusy herself.

“Oh, hi Lusy,” Marco smiled at her. Which only made Bree grit her teeth harder.

“Lusy! How are you?” Bree didn’t care that Lusy had addressed Marco only.

“Well, I was just-”

“Oh that’s great, won’t you excuse us?” Bree yanked, as elegantly as she could, on Marco’s arm, dragging him well away before he had a chance to protest.

“What are you doing?” Marco protested once they were out of Lusy’s earshot.

“I can’t stand that girl,” Bree muttered, smiling and waving as she saw a few people she knew.

“Is it because you can’t stand her or because her tits were spilling out of her dress?” Marco raised an eyebrow, distinctively unimpressed as he watched Bree accept a canape from another waiter with a carefree smile, “Would you stop acting like nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong! I can’t stand Lusy because _no one_ can stand Lusy. Now stop trying to read something into it and have a canape, for crying out loud.” With his jaw tense, Marco reluctantly did as he was told and took a smoked salmon and cream cheese canape.

“Original,” He muttered.

“Would you at least _try_ to look happy, please? This is our first outing as a newly engaged couple and all anyone can see is you looking unbelievably miserable. I know you don’t want to be here but can you at least fake it?”

“I have a resting bitch face, ok?”

“Oh shut up. Natascha, hey!”

Marco knew the importance of keeping up appearances when you were in the public eye. If Marco and Bree were to start radiating any negative body language or start having any cross words, guaranteed it would be in tomorrow’s issue of _BILD_. It didn’t matter that there was no official paparazzi present; nowadays, in this world, you couldn’t trust anyone. Anyone and everyone is just waiting to be the tabloid’s ‘source’ and tell the world what you want to keep private. Especially with the influx of people like Lusy Skaya. Her fifteen minutes of fame were fading fast and if she could make a few thousand by selling a piece of gossip to the press, then she would.

And so, as Bree started chatting pleasantly to Natascha – who, to the best of Marco’s knowledge was a bit part model and, chiefly, the ex-wife of a very successful actor – Marco pulled her close with a smile, gave her a kiss on the cheek and made his excuses.

“I’ll just be a moment, alright, babe? Nice to see you again, Natascha.”

Marco needed some fresh air. He was just feeling so completely suffocated by the entire situation. There was always a smoking area at such events so he made his way to the back of the hall while weaving through the growing crowd of familiar faces with a nod there, smile there, casual ‘hi’ there. He just needed a break from the entire charade. Marco considered himself to be a very genuine person and so, acting a completely different way to how he was feeling was difficult for him.

He was just about to reach the exit to the smoking area when he was cornered by a young woman in a black t-shirt with ‘ _ECHO’_ emblazoned across it in white.

“Mr Reus? The team here at the _Echo Awards_ would love to congratulate you on your engagement and present you both with a token of our appreciation for everything you both do for German culture.” Marco raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“A token of your appreciation?” He asked, momentarily confused.

“If you and Miss Walker could see one of the team backstage at your own convenience, any time tonight, we have an excellent package for you both that we really hope will make this special time of your life just that little bit more memorable.” Oh, right. Marco wasn’t used to the whole goodie bag thing. Getting free stuff as a millionaire was something he would never not find peculiar. But he flashed a wide, appreciative smile.

“That’s extremely generous of you, I will absolutely let Bree know,” Marco handed offered his hand, which she took in a shake with a smile.

“Excellent! I must go but congratulations!” She bounded off just as quickly as she appeared and Marco chuckled to himself, shaking his head in slight disbelief for a moment before finally getting outside and taking a deep breath of fresh air.

It might have been tinged with cigarette smoke, but even Marco – resolutely anti-smoking – didn’t care.

Marco didn’t think that there was anything less attractive in a woman than to see her with a cigarette in her hand. He fought the urge to shake his head in derision when he looked over towards the back of the spacious smoking area and saw a woman with a great figure, glossy hair and a beautiful dress. She would have been a stunning woman if it wasn’t for the cigarette in her manicured hand.

It wasn’t until the woman in question looked over to him and raised her eyebrows in recognition, did his heart sink with realisation.

“Marco!” Ann-Kathrin teetered over in her stilettos, a wide smile plastered across her face, “Marco! God, I’m so sorry I haven’t called either of you since I heard the news! Congratulations!” She embraced him in a warm hug, “I saw a picture of the ring, what a rock! I never would have thought you had such good taste! She’s a very lucky girl.”

“Thank you,” Marco replied, as graciously as he could manage, with yet another forced smile, “I didn’t know you would be here tonight?” Ann cocked her head, confusion etched on her face.

“Didn’t you? I would have thought Mario would have told you!” At the mention of his name – and the implication that he was there – Marco’s stomached clenched as if someone had punched him.

“Oh, no, he didn’t...where is he?” Marco asked, looking around, expecting him to be outside with Ann.

“He went inside a few minutes-” Ann couldn’t even finished her sentence before Marco turned on his heel and dashed back inside. The hall was filled by then but, with Bree in a distinctive dark green dress and her signature flaming red hair, it didn’t take long for him to spot her. And, just as he had suspected, she was talking to Mario.

In hindsight, what he did next was not his best move. In fact, it was almost definitely the worst thing he could possibly have done in the situation. What he should have done was gone over to Bree and Mario, and calmly but firmly, told Mario to fuck off. He should have discreetly told Bree that he didn’t want her to _ever_ converse with that chubby faced prick again.

Marco pushed past several people when he was storming over to Bree and Marco and didn’t say a single word before punching Mario square in the face.


End file.
